


And They Were Roommates

by YouNeedAUsername222



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, COVID-19, Carl Grimes is a Little Shit, Crushes, If You Squint - Freeform, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Negan Being Negan (Walking Dead), Negan is Ron's Dad, Roommates, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Voyeurism, We’re going all the way to hell, general inappropriateness, lockdown - Freeform, slight daddy kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27879353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouNeedAUsername222/pseuds/YouNeedAUsername222
Summary: Carl Grimes, a college student seeking his freedom, moves in with his friend, Ron. This also means living with Ron's dad, Negan, who is often away on business (who knows what that could be). As teenagers do, Carl develops a persistent crush on the man, worsened when 2020's headline act, Coronavirus, breaks out. Ron moves in with his girlfriend and suddenly, Negan is around a lot more due to travel restrictions. Welcome to Carl Grimes’ bisexuality crisis.Just a series of stuff and thangs that happen while Negan and Carl live alone together amidst the pandemic.
Relationships: Carl Grimes/Negan
Comments: 9
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the Britishisms, my (also British!) editor ‘murica’d the shit out of this but some tea may well spill through the cracks. I'm also bandwaggoning on the rather convenient Ron-is-Negan's-son thing.

Carl has developed a pretty insistent and unexpected crush on his friend's dad. He's not proud of it and as far as he's concerned, Ron doesn't need to find out. Neither does Negan, the man responsible for his multitude of late-night fantasies that don't quite disappear when morning comes.

He moved into their house as a sublet lodger two months ago, assuming a third of the rent and the not especially spacious spare room. Still, it was better than nothing - he was approaching eighteen and desperately longed for his freedom. Though he loved them all endlessly, living his dad, stepmom and little sister could be so stifling at times.

Jessie Anderson had long since divorced Negan, moving to a luxurious home in Los Angeles - a place that made Carl want to rip his hair out - with Ron's annoying little brother, Sam. Ron very obviously felt the same about LA, as he mentioned it at least once a week. "Good fucking riddance," he'd scoff, and Carl could only be inclined to agree, the melancholy bitterness in Ron's voice not going unnoticed.

Everything was fine until the pandemic - a sentence that belonged in a movie theater. Things had been normal for Carl; he and Ron hung out whenever they got a spare minute, occasionally buying a rotisserie chicken between them like responsible adults. Enid was usually with them on weekends. Plus, they sometimes had college classes at the same time so they could all be abundantly stressed and overworked together. Sophia, Mikey and a few others made the rest of their friend group, along with Carl's retail colleagues, and friends from back home who would visit, leaving him with very few dull moments. The only issue with his new life was his lustful crush on Negan. He was away most of the time on business - whatever _that_ entailed - but usually returned every couple of weeks. Carl kind of understood why Ron was so eager for him to move in.

Negan was always the life of the house, cracking jokes and being generally inappropriate for a couple days at a time, then he'd disappear for another fortnight. Carl had started off being unsure of him and his wildly unbefitting humor, presuming he was attempting to intimidate Carl and sound him out. His pessimism had quickly faded though, as he realized that that was just the man’s nature. Carl moved in after a lengthy rent and logistics chat with Ron and Negan in which they collectively decided it would be best if the landlord remained unaware of his presence.

Carl's uncertainty of Negan was replaced by friendly fondness - the dude was hilarious - as they would slip into easy watercooler conversation when he was around. This would have been satisfactory for all parties involved but Carl's brain just _had_ to pull a fast one on him, and he started looking at Negan in a different way, more closely and intimately than before.

He was attractive. Just a base-level, inescapable fact. The difficulty was that he was the _give-Carl-an-actual-crisis-by-making-him-question-his-sexuality_ type of attractive. There was no way to avoid his bold confidence and perfectly trimmed beard hiding a jawline that could probably cut Carl if he touched it (and _boy_ , did he want to touch it). Or his unyielding eye contact that simultaneously drew Carl in and made him want to stare at something - anything - like it was the most enthralling thing this side of Jupiter. Every new thing he noticed fueled the fire.

Usually, Carl's type was pretty loyal to long hair and bra straps, but apparently forty-something six-foot swagger underneath a black leather jacket had entered his repertoire now too. _That_ jacket. Hell, Carl had been tempted to try it on while he was away. Sneak into the man's room, wear the cigarette smoke and aerosol deodorant that seemed to stick prominently on everything he touched. He hadn't dared, though, only in his dreams. His many, _many_ dreams.

Then, once the pandemic happened, Negan could no longer travel, mainly working from home along with most of the world's population. Ron decided to jump ship and quarantine with Enid, moving into her apartment a few streets over. So this left Negan and Carl as the sole members of the household, assuming the roles of slightly awkward roommates and thus, worsening Carl's blossoming crush. To Negan, of course, it wasn't awkward. He presumably didn't get a raging hard-on every time he saw Carl, unlike the latter, who'd had to use the cushions in the sitting room for more than their intended purposes on numerous occasions. He hadn't yet gauged exactly how fucked he was in this situation, but the scale seemed to be ever-tipping.

The sky had already turned a deep shade of navy when Negan entered the kitchen. Carl had been studying for the majority of the tedious weekday, migrating to the island stool a few hours before. It was as good a place as any to be at a total loss with coursework and he couldn't complain about the internet speed. If only Google could write the paper for him.

"My boss is a total dickbag." Negan announced as he retrieved some bottled water from the fridge. It was a well-known fact that if you drank the Georgia tap water, you'd wake up infertile, probably sporting an extra arm.

"What happened? He hasn't sacked you again, has he?"

"Oh-hoh, he wouldn't _dare_ , not after last time. No, he's just being a general disappointing fuckwad, balls deep in my business, as per goddamn usual. I tell you, kid, never trust a morning person. They use those extra hours to make it their personal mission in life to fuck up your day." He stood uncomfortably close behind Carl, peering over his shoulder at the paragraphs the student had so far managed to bullshit out of thin air, "anyway - onwards and upwards, my friend - I'm ordering takeout, you want anything?"

Forty minutes and a great deal of bickering later, a flighty UberEats delivery man launched some burgers and fries through the front door. The great debate of 2020 wasn't who the next president should be or who should be entitled to the vaccine first, or even whether or not governments should feed starving kids, it was 'burgers or Chinese' and Carl won by a long shot.

"I'm not _saying_ I could see you stabbing my eye out with some chopsticks but I sure am thinkin’ it loudly," had been Negan's conceding remark. Carl felt oddly proud that he'd hijacked his roommate's dinner plans so effortlessly, and proceeded to gloat for the rest of the evening.

Carl continued studying as they ate, fending off Negan's exceptionally unhelpful and frequent homework tips. They ranged from the classic hungry canine story to deeply problematic suggestions involving goats and some kind of ritualistic floor circle? Probably best not to read into that one.

"Smearing ketchup over the answers doesn't work if you're on a laptop," Carl pointed out, having failed to suppress a fit of undignified giggling at Negan's recommendations. High-pitched, girly giggling. It had been a while since someone had incited that reaction in him but for better or worse, Negan had the knack, and by god, did he like to use it.

The human evil laugh shrugged, "worth a try, though, right? So," he tugged on his flattering leather jacket and pulled a red scarf up over his mouth and nose, "I gotta go see a man about a boss- I mean, a dog. Ta-ta."

Yet again, this begged the question, what exactly _is_ Negan's job? And who was he going to talk to about his boss (or a dog)? A small but persistent part of Carl lingered on the notion that the answer would probably be more troubling than anything his mind could cook up. He kept writing the essay until identity theft and a one-way trip to Mexico started to sound like a fun activity, too distracted by his roommate's line of work to study anyway.

Was it just Carl's young, overactive imagination, or had his relationship with Negan upgraded from 'this weird kid lives in my house, might as well say hey in the hallway' to actually hanging out? Like, without discussing rent? Did Negan like spending time with Carl? Was that a thing that could happen, or was he just being friendly? He understood that Negan would never reciprocate his ridiculous crush but at least the man gave him the time of day. Some of his previous high school crushes (and even girlfriends) had looked right through him.

This didn't stop him hoping that he was more than just an obligation in Negan's eyes. There was little room for hope in their quarantine abode, decently sized as it was, but Carl stayed optimistic nonetheless.

Carl shivered in the freezing utility room beside the garage, thankful that the rest of the house had central heating. The cramped, confined space was something akin to an airplane bathroom, or Hell, for instance. But he could see his breath. It was April, for God's sake. The room suited its purpose, however, with a matching washer and dryer fitted to the wall, and a walk-in cupboard for airing and storage. It just so happened that it opted for that sweet, authentic North Pole feeling. Armed with a box of Tide Pods in one hand and a bottle of laundry liquid in the other, Carl's indecision got the best of him.

"You alright, Sophie? Looks like you're caught between the red and the blue pill," Negan asked from directly behind Carl. A couple of shirts whipped past him into the open door of the machine.

"I... this is a genuine cry for help at this point, I can't choose," he held the products up, turning, "the fence is my home now." Carl was at a bit of a loss, feeling his quarantine crazies emerging in the elegant form of indecision. Ron had usually done the washing prior to his hasty departure, hence the difficulty settling on one option.

Negan, just as unaware and dismissive of personal space and boundaries as always, dipped his head low, so close to Carl that he could feel stubble brushing his chin. He didn't permit himself to flinch, feeling the man's face in the crook of his neck, nose poking his shirt. He inhaled deeply and a suddenly rosy-cheeked Carl understood what he was doing. It tickled, and he shivered for an entirely different reason, immediately heating up.

"I'm a fan of whatever you used last time." Negan assured, lips brushing his ear as he stood straight again, towering over the boy and blocking the exit, "peach with lemon perfume?"

"That's the one…"

It became clear that the little hallway at the top of the house leading to the attic was Negan's favorite place to smoke. The massive window allowed him to keep the smoke outside as he leaned against the sill.

On Thursday afternoon, just over a week having passed since Ron's departure, Carl raided the attic for a stack of books, haphazardly cramming some he'd finished back onto the shelf like a home library. He planned on renovating the mostly empty space and battling the cobwebs that inhabited the corners, if he was permitted to do so. A lamp or some decorations wouldn't go amiss, either. He had a feeling he'd be allowed, given the ‘Pharaoh tomb' vibe that the room gave off.

He exited the attic to find Negan in the narrow hallway, elbows on the windowsill, having lit a cigarette. He threw a nod Carl's way, going back to surveying the city. It was an impressive view, fully Instagram-worthy when the sun hit just right. In a couple of hours, that would be the case.

Carl was feeling extra bold and stopped beside Negan, slipping the books onto the windowsill and leaning against the wall opposite. He took in the sight beyond the glass; skyscrapers lined up in the distance on a backdrop of fluffy clouds, moving fast with the wind. The world may have ground to a halt but the sky above would always stay the same, even less polluted now that people were stuck at home. "Missing the outside?"

Negan raised an eyebrow in his direction, amusement plain on his face, "you have no idea, kid. Missin' a _lot_ of things right about now..." he said, sparing a glance up and down Carl's body. If his words didn't get the message across, his suggestive tone definitely hit the point home, as per usual.

"Yeah, I get you," Carl chuckled; an attempt shrouded in futility to conceal his awkwardness, "can I borrow a cigarette?" This was a long shot, considering who he was talking to. Although, Negan had no problem buying alcohol for him and Ron, just as long as they didn't go shouting it from the rooftops.

The man laughed, "sorry kid, I can't in good conscience - or rather, good view - give a seventeen-year-old a cigarette." Carl nodded in understanding. "However..."

Negan motioned for him to come closer, taking a long drag from the cigarette with his other hand. Carl did as he was told, sending him a questioning look, but before he knew it, Negan was sliding his hand to the back of his neck and pulling him forward, leaning down a little.

_Holy fuck_. Carl's eyes went wide and his jaw was suddenly slack, his mouth opening of its own accord. It was all he could do not to close his eyes as Negan blew a thin stream of smoke past his parted lips. He had to manually remind himself to take in oxygen. He’d seen people in movies do this with weed and such, but never cigarettes. Strong tobacco smoke dragged on his esophagus unpleasantly and he made a face.

"Not used to it, are ya?" Negan was grinning at him, leaning against the windowsill again casually, like he hadn't just made his young roommate's heart leap out of his chest and partway down the street.

"Breathed in wrong," Carl explained between coughs, "seventeen years on this earth and I forget how to breathe," _oh, and it's entirely your fault_ , he didn't add.

That night, Carl hurriedly shoved his hand into his underwear with the thought of Negan pushing him up against the hallway wall and doing much more than blowing smoke into his mouth. He could take a shower in cold holy water and it _still_ wouldn't cleanse him of his Dirty Negan Thoughts. The usual embarrassment and shame edged into his conscience afterwards, but what Negan didn't know couldn't hurt him.

Carl had slept in the same bed since he was twelve. It had barely survived the move from his childhood home to Ron's before lockdown, suffering several injuries to the wood and a couple to the mattress when Rick dropped it down the stairs. Carl had only just managed to jump down in front of it and whisk his younger sister out of its soft but heavy path.

"Damn, Carl, knee-high to a grasshopper but you're fuckin' badass. Got them cat reflexes," Negan, who had come to help (or unproductively ramble at the Grimes family), commented. Rick had glared him out of the room, glancing at Judith. She'd definitely heard the man's foul language (along with half the neighborhood, judging by Rick's reaction) and skillfully imitated her dad's glower.

Two weeks into lockdown and his bed started to emulate the comfort of sleeping on a pile of bones. Springs all over the shop; creaky slats haphazardly taped to the headboard; disgruntled vertebrae; it was a train wreck. So Carl ordered a new one from IKEA - with Rick's financial assistance because the money tree was running low as usual - due to arrive on Tuesday at 11PM. This would give him just enough time to ignore the instructions and assemble it incorrectly.

Tuesday came around and Carl rather ambitiously dismantled his bed (it didn't take long as the deed was already half done from years of wear and tear, coupled up nicely with the mishap on the stairs) and left it in pieces in a box. It would stay there until the local recycling plant reopened.

The courier didn't arrive at eleven, though, or half an hour after. Twelve rolled around and still no bed, just a remorseful text so routine that it could have been sent by a robot or a monkey in a lab somewhere.

_Dear Mr Grimes. We apologize for the inconvenience but there has been a major delay due to the pandemic, your delivery will arrive tomorrow at the agreed upon time._ Some refund information followed which Carl disregarded completely.

When he decided it was time to sleep, he grabbed a blanket and a pillow and headed to the sitting room, hoping to set up shop on the couch. Ron's room would have been ideal but the stingy bastard had taken his key with him. Carl was jealous that Ron was even _allowed_ a lock on his room.

"What _are_ you doing?" Negan asked when he came in to investigate the rustling of couch cushions hitting the carpet.

Loose shorts and no shirt. Cool cool cool cool, "the new bed got held up in delivery, something to do with travel restrictions, so, uh, I'm sleeping on the couch..."

Negan chuckled bitterly, muttering "we've all been there," under his breath. There was definitely a story there - probably involving Jessie. Maybe Carl would hear it one day.

"It's not exactly the four seasons but I've slept on worse."

Negan was having none of it, shaking his head with a snigger, "few sleep on this goddamn death trap and wake to tell the tale. Come on, you're sleeping with me, kid."

Carl acted like a goldfish had taught him to talk for a second, "you sure? I don't mind staying in here, it's just for one night."

"Nonsense. Can't have you killin' your back; I'm pretty sure your daddy would murder me, lettin' that happen." Negan proceeded to herd Carl out of the room with a hand on his shoulder - so close that he could smell freshly applied toothpaste - and towards his bedroom, "he always looks like he's halfway there already..."

"Yeah," Carl nodded in acknowledgment, "it's not really his fault. He's a bit slow to trust. Ever since... Lori - my mom - cheated and left him for his best friend." Negan, making an interested noise to urge him to continue, motioned to the side of the double bed that wasn't his, and Carl lay down, heart fluttering a little, "Judith might not even be his and he _still_ has to see the fucking guy at work every day. No idea how he does it; I'd have stabbed Shane's eyes out by now... I think Michonne helps to ground him. She helps me too."

A _click_ as the light switched off followed by Negan's footsteps drawing nearer, "wow, that's tough, kid. I'm sorry. He ever think about gettin' a DNA test for the little one? Surely it's better to know..." The bed dipped as Negan lay down beside Carl, a modest distance away.

"That's not the way we see it. My dad can handle not knowing whether she's genetically his because whoever her bio father is, Judith is a hundred percent _his daughter_ , our family. Nothing in this world could change that and if Shane ever tries to claim her as his own, I'll personally tear his throat out and dad'll help me cover it up, cop or not." He gave a half-suppressed laugh at how truly inviting the idea was.

His words - previously unspoken, something like a confession - flowed from his mouth of their own accord into the pitch-black void surrounding him in Negan's bedroom. Something about the darkness made venting easier, and he knew Negan wouldn't judge him, as he frequently expressed similar violent urges. Not that doing away with Shane was an urge, exactly. It was more of a reactionary response to something that probably wouldn't even happen.

There was a moment of silence and Carl wondered if he'd said too much. He could backtrack, if that was even an option?

"Damn, remind me not to mess with you..." Negan's disembodied voice was low in the quiet darkness as he shifted onto his back. He sounded impressed. No one else's approval felt quite like Negan's. It held a significance in Carl's mind, momentous, like he'd won something.

To steer the discussion in lighter directions, Carl added, "plus, he knows Ron - they've met like a hundred times- but you're kind of, um..." He trailed off, searching for a PG way to end that sentence. Rick didn't react well to assertive characters, especially not ones who swore in front of Judith (and occasionally Carl when he overlooked the fact that his son was seventeen years of age and had, himself, been swearing for at least half his life. It sometimes felt like Rick forgot that Carl was pretty much an adult. He realized that he didn't have that problem with Negan, not that he was comparing them).

"Kind of what? New? Intimidating? Dashingly handsome?" Yes. "Mob-boss material?" Astonishingly, yes. "One to be avoided, the 'your daughter calls me daddy too' type?" Hell fucking yes. All of the above and so much more.

"Threatening?" Carl ventured. He let his eyes fall shut, sleep tugging at his conscience.

Negan hummed in an exhale, gravelly sounding because there was no need to project into the gloom, "I'll take it. Well, next time I see him, my eyes will be _glued_ to the floor like the unpopular kid on April Fools."

Something that vaguely annoyed Carl about the house was the kitchen. In fairness, it was spacious with modern cupboards, counters, an island and everything... but the window. The fucking window. The architects must have been hardcore voyeurs or something because the entire street-facing portion of the room was a glass sliding door; basically a huge sign saying ' _break in here_ '. Anyone on the sidewalk could glance a few meters to their left and make an itemized list of everything in the fridge. Even the moldy carrot juice that Ron had neglected to take with him, and neither Carl nor Negan would acknowledge for fear of having to touch it. If he wanted an audience to applaud him eating cornflakes every morning, he'd video chat with his family.

Either way, the window was a problem, and Carl had been roped into helping Negan install new locks, because the locksmiths weren't making non-emergency house calls. He began fiddling with the lock, screwdriver in hand, desperately trying to look confident in his abilities.

"You have no idea what in the holy hell you're doing, do you?" Negan chuckled behind him as if he was any better off.

"I can figure it out..."

"Sure you can, kid. I believe in you." Obvious sarcasm. Carl gave him a withering look before turning back to the task, loosening the first screw of four. The lock was complex and bothersome but the damn thing had to come off to install the new one, so off it would come.

Carl was just about to go for the second screw when Negan cursed under his breath. A strong hand grabbed Carl's shoulder and spun him around. He was met with Negan pressed up against him and he almost stumbled backwards at the force, their lips locked together tightly. Blue eyes widened, taking in as much information as possible to assess what the fuck was happening (not that he was complaining).

Negan kissed Carl hard on the mouth, leaving no room for objection. He felt robbed of his precious oxygen. The screwdriver slipped from his hand. It clattered and probably cracked, breaking the teen's shocked stillness. He didn't know what was going on but there wasn't a single bone in his body that harbored the desire to protest.

His eyes fell shut as he relaxed into the kiss, the hand on the side of his face keeping him in place. Negan's other arm was around his waist, holding him tight against his body. Taking advantage of the situation, Carl twisted his hands in the front of the man's white shirt and made sure to mentally log the moment, once again breathing in Negan's lingering scent of smoke. It was overpowering, intoxicating at their proximity.

Too soon, Negan pulled back, covertly side-eyeing the street outside. He grinned, looking back at a very stunned Carl. Quickly gathering his brain cells into a neat little pile, Carl threw him his best _what the fuck_ look, which almost always got speedy results.

Sure enough, "Deborah from across the street just walked by. She's got a little crush on yours truly – and I mean, who can blame her? If she sees me kissing you, maybe she'll stop hittin' on me whenever I check the damn mailbox."

"She's the one with the purple car, right? A couple cats?" Carl was overtly aware that neither party had pulled back and they were just shooting words at each other from point blank range, their embrace still rather intimate. Was Negan stroking his hair? Was it _intentional_??

A snigger. "Yeah, she's the one. More than a couple, she's got the feline equivalent of Noah's fuckin' Ark goin' on. She's a pleasant lady but she’s really not my type, so I’m keeping away... And that's nothing to do with social distancing, either." Negan's grin turned mischievous, looking down at the boy's lips for a second, "you kissed back..."

There was honestly no configuration of words that could explain that without Carl's Not Platonic feelings for Negan coming to light so he just shrugged, trying his best to look impartial. Negan cackled under his breath, releasing his roommate to continue tending to the lock.

Carl's hands shook so much that he could barely hold the screwdriver. He was facing away from Negan, attempting to hold a coherent conversation, and he hoped the annoyingly nonchalant man couldn't see his blush in the reflection. Negan's Deborah-free mail run better be fucking worth it.

The next day, the illusive bed didn't show up until an hour after the agreed time, by which point, Carl had started thinking about the couch again, or maybe Negan would let him crash with him again. He didn't want to inconvenience the man but he had to admit that the thought of occupying the empty space in his stupid teenage crush's bed was alluring.

"Carl! It's for you, boy," Negan hollered from downstairs at around twelve, two minutes after the doorbell rang. Carl liked that his voice always sunk an octave when he raised it. When he crossed the threshold of the sitting room into the entryway, he didn't expect to see a towering mountain of a cardboard box standing there. Negan poked his head out from behind it comically, "Schrodinger's bed is here and it wants _everyone_ to know. Damn, they're overcompensating for _something_ with this packaging..."

The sound of Negan wrapping his knuckles on the other side of the box made Carl wince.

"Couldn't have gone for a kiddy bed, could you, short stuff? Would've been a better fit than this monstrosity..."

Carl scoffed. "With all due respect - and we can decide in our own heads how much that may be - I don't need an egotistical skyscraper's opinion, thanks."

He could feel Negan's smirk radiating from the other side of the box, "no need to get your panties in a pretzel, Gnome Boy."

"Whatever, just help me get it upstairs," Carl crouched to get a hold on the plastic handles protruding from the cardboard. It _should_ fit up the stairs? Right?

"No way I'm taking this fuckin' thing anywhere right now. You can sleep with me again, construct it in the morning."

Carl battled the relief from showing on his face.

Morning made its apathetic appearance after a night of fitful bursts of sleep. The first time he'd slept next to Negan, Carl had had the conversation about Lori and Shane hanging over him, dampening the butterflies in his stomach from being in such close proximity to the man. This time, Negan had entered the room when Carl was half asleep. They'd exchanged a couple of tired words, but not nearly enough to quell the aching lust pointing in Negan's direction. Yet again, he was oh-so-shirtless and provocative, this time wearing loose black sweatpants. Carl definitely did _not_ let his lidded eyes linger on the man's torso before feeling bad and closing them completely. He never thought such a sight could turn him on, especially in his dubiously conscious state, but it had.

Now, uh, rising, the consequences made themselves known. He'd awoken with the world's most egregious case of morning wood. This never usually happened, and when it did, he'd treat it like most of his problems; ignore it until it went away (the logical thing to do). Being so close to Negan, however, made this impossible.

Sighing, Carl's head landed back on the pillow, staring straight up at the ceiling as if that could swoop down and save him. The dilemma wasn't getting any better. He wondered how he could get up without waking Negan and alerting him to his predicament.

It was too late, however, because Negan, who had edged closer during the night, turned over onto his back, eyes opening sleepily. There was a quick back and forth, one incredibly awkward thing led to another, and the man noticed Carl was hard, his loose pajama pants betraying him somewhat. It had been too hot during the night to bother with the covers but Carl desperately wished for them now.

"You're hard." He observed simply, devoid of tone. If he were a book, he’d be written in invisible ink, giving Carl nothing but a slight curl of the lips to work with. Was he amused or angry, disgusted - an unfavorable combination of all three? Did Carl even want to know? "There is a straight up _myriad_ of _extraordinarily_ distasteful jokes I could make right now and I just want you to know that I'm holding back. Don't say I never did nothin' for ya." He winked, prompting Carl to close his eyes, head hitting the pillow once more, ready for it to swallow him into the abyss. His hand landed on his reddening face with a groan.

"Gee, I don't know how to thank you..." Carl muttered sarcastically into his own personal whirlpool of shame and embarrassment.

A pause, and just as Carl was about to get up to make a sheepish exit, Negan spoke. "Touch yourself."

The boy's eyes shot open, trained on the ceiling as he let his arm flop to the side, "excuse me?"

"You heard me, kid. I want to watch. Touch yourself." It was commanding this time, less of a suggestion.

Carl looked at him then, searching his eyes for any sign of jest, "for real?"

Negan nodded, somehow deadly serious through his growing smirk and daring, narrowed eyes. Not one to shy away from a challenge, Carl shuffled up the bed a little, getting into a better position. Every movement sent bolts of nervousness through his body, hoping he hadn't gotten the wrong end of the stick. Which, if he actually thought about it, was damn near impossible given Negan's crystal-clear instruction.

A deep breath. Their eye contact didn't waver as Carl's hand slowly disappeared below his waistband. Holy shit, was he actually doing this? There was no time to ponder the consequences. He palmed himself a little, groaning softly at the first touch, always the most sensitive. He was growing harder by the second, probably due to the perilous situation he'd crash landed in. Negan's grin grew, his tongue poking out between his teeth for a second, whispering "damn...", presumably surprised that Carl actually did as he was told.

"You like watching boys a third of your age get off?" He pushed the thought that he was being taken advantage of to the back of his mind.

"Only you, kid. Pandemic's got me all sorts of screwed up, but not screw _ing_. This is... well, it's mutually beneficial. I figured, what's the harm, 'cause I can tell you're frustrated too."

Carl chuckled, delighted whenever Negan's eyes flicked from his face to his crotch and slowly back up his torso, unmistakable want in his eyes. "You have no idea..."

He kept stroking himself, faster now, Negan's voice helping him along. He was reluctant to admit that one, unsure the embarrassment was worth it. Telling Negan that he could turn Carl on simply by speaking would only open up a whole Pandora’s Box filled to the brim with humiliation.

"Kissing you yesterday was the most action I've gotten in months, and it got me thinking about what else that pretty little mouth of yours could do," Negan scooted closer to Carl so he was on his side, his body pressed close against the boy. Heat radiated from Negan's bare torso. The strong deodorant that haunted him like a glorious curse became twice as apparent.

"Seein' you layin' there next to me, all tempting and vulnerable gave me a hard-on like you wouldn't fuckin' believe. Had to take myself off to the bathroom during the night - that's what you fuckin' do to me." He rubbed his hand up and down the teen’s thigh, trailing his nails as Carl worked himself, blush evident. Rough lips met a soft ear, "feel like a goddamn teenager with an iron wrist again."

"Yeah?" Carl muttered, flustered almost beyond words at that point, "I'm right there with you..."

Hair was pushed aside from atop the boy's ear, his shirt raked down to allow Negan access to his throat. The man nipped at the sensitive skin there, and a groan escaped the younger of the two as he felt himself getting closer to the edge. He hadn't figured out the rules of whatever they were doing, but Negan was pressing tantalizing kisses to his neck so that was really the only thing on his mind. The unmistakable feeling of the man's stupid smug smile against his skin made him shudder and bare his neck, the physical contact enticing after so long without any. Especially as it was _Negan_. The guy he'd been feverishly fantasizing about for the past however long (he'd lost track). There was no way he would do this with anyone else.

Carl wanted to show just how much he appreciated this, allowing grateful little moans to tumble from his lips. Usually this kind of activity was done behind closed doors with the lights out, an impartial experience where no noise was necessary, for fear of drawing attention.

Letting himself be uninhibitedly vocal kind of backfired, however, obviously turning Negan on and inspiring him to suck an outlandishly large bruise into the very middle of his throat.

“Stop, I'll get questions..." Carl whined.

"From who??"

Oh yeah. Lockdown. Negan was the only other living human that Carl saw in person most days. There were zoom calls... but even then, a few hickeys were nothing a well-placed hoodie or shirt collar couldn't fix. Negan hadn't waited for an answer anyway, sucking hard on Carl's sensitive skin, making sure that the marks would be difficult to cover up.

He worked his tongue over the wounds, triumphantly listening to Carl cursing him out.

"You got a mouth on you, kid," he teased, "what else you wanna call me? You can be my bitch and call me daddy if you like. I just _know_ you've been thinkin' about it." It was as if Negan had cracked open Carl's mind and was poking around in there like the world's most infuriating brain surgeon. He leaned in, breath brushing Carl's face as the boy got closer and closer. "Bet the thought of me roughin' you up gets you _real_ hot."

That did it for Carl and he came hard over his own hand, feeling Negan's eyes burning into his face as if he wanted to hand over the moment to a sketch artist later on. A really raunchy, somewhat morally dubious sketch artist.

"Fuck..." he breathed out.

"Well. That's the hottest thing I've ever seen." Negan declared, patting the boy's thigh after relinquishing it of his solid grip, "damn. Feel free to never assemble your bed, by the way."

It wasn't long before Negan kicked him from the room, grumbling that he had to get ready for work and now the 'fucking gorgeous image of Carl Grimes getting himself off' was burned into his mind for the rest of the day.

It had felt so wrong and so good with Negan there watching him like a hawk or sucking on his neck like a horny vampire, the consequences of which were covered with a rather excessive sweater for his afternoon classes. Ron, sharing one of those classes, was in the same zoom call, and if he ever found out... Carl decided it was best not to explore that eventuality. Not to mention that, despite _almost_ being eighteen, he was still in fact underage. A forty-something man being a little extra-platonic with a seventeen-year-old was a big no-no in the beady eyes of ol' Johnny law, as Negan had pointed out.

From then on, things were different. In a good way. Negan, unlike most adults, had always seen and treated Carl as an equal, but the barrier of ‘I’m your son’s friend’ had now been kicked down and trampled on by the events of that morning. Granted, it was a little awkward but the way Negan didn't let it phase him was reassuring. It felt like a step in the right direction.

At first, Carl had been scared that what happened between them was a one-off, an embarrassment to be swept under the carpet. Something Negan would label as a mistake. But that notion was quickly put to rest the following day when he was backed up against the kitchen counter, caught in the hottest kiss of his life, no Deborah in sight. Negan had muttered “you've got a darkness about you, kid, and I'm not going to lie; I find that super fuckin’ hot,” between breathless kisses, further reassuring him.

Negan wasn’t terrible to live with either. Sure, he was a bit intense and liked to throw his bravado and showmanship around but underneath it all, he had his head on straight. Despite their many squabbling sessions and the flirting that never failed to get Carl hot under the collar at the most inopportune moments, they got on well. He also couldn’t complain about how Negan would randomly drag him onto his lap and kiss him like it was the most natural thing in the world. He even made a habit of getting him off on occasion when one thing led to another, and the teen had quickly learned to reciprocate. It was strange and new to Carl - and they didn’t have a name for it - but oddly perfect.

**Edit: I just watched After We Collided and boy, doesn't this look familiar-**


	2. Chapter 2

Carl hadn't expected Negan's offer. It had come out of nowhere, hitting him in the face (quite literally) one morning as he entered the sitting room. 

"Hey kid. You want me to teach you how to fight?"

Carl glanced up from his textbook, accustomed to Negan's way of springing things on him with no context, "what do you mean?"

Negan sat across from him on the couch, stretching his legs across the carpet towards Carl.

"I've been thinkin-"

"Wow, I'm sorry, sounds traumatic for you," Carl hid a smirk under his fringe when Negan childishly kicked his foot. 

"First of all, go fuck yourself," the man replied candidly before moving on to his pitch, "anyway. You've clearly got a bunch of pent-up anger - among other things-" he winked, "kickin' up one hell of a storm in that brain of yours, and no way of releasing it. I could help you handle it by learning self-defense." 

Carl had been nodding along dumbly, suddenly self-conscious at being picked apart like that so accurately, "sure. Why though?" 

Negan leaned back and shrugged, "somethin' to do... this fuckin' pandemic happened and no one bothered to fix it, so might as well get a bit of practice in while we’re locked down, you know?" There was a brief pause in which Carl stared at him dubiously, having picked up on a slight unease in the older man. Negan returned his gaze, for once a little uncertainty lining his eyes. When he finally spoke, it wasn't his usual tone full of bravado; it was almost abashed, "also... there's been some sinister shit going on 'round these parts lately. Scary stuff, I just want to make sure we're both prepared to avoid getting our shit pushed in, you know. If we're ever allowed outside again, that is." 

"Aww, you're worried for me," a teasing grin shone through Carl's words, "well, in that case, I'm in."

The thought of locking horns with a man north of six feet with no known weakness was intimidating but at the same time - what a way to go, huh? Carl knew a decent amount about self-defense from his habit of getting into scuffles with bigger kids in high school, but he had a feeling that Negan had something a little more specific in mind. He also didn't loathe the idea of Negan's hands on him more, and spending time near him in general, even if they were just sparring. 

Carl kicked a rucksack and a tennis ball into the corner, both belonging to Ron. He found himself regretting his acceptance of Negan's offer as he stood in the glacial, nearly empty garage. His roommate had given him an instructional lecture that lasted at least ten minutes. He could have shortened it to 'don't maim each other' and been done with it but of course Negan couldn't let it be that simple. 

"Gonna make you my fucking _bitch_ ," Negan's trash talk could use some work because Carl's dick actually _twitched in his pants_ and he was pretty sure that was _not_ the intended consequence. They hadn't even gotten near each other yet! He had no idea how he would survive an hour of close-quarters combat with his insanely attractive roommate who he'd been fooling around with for just over two weeks. 

When they finally did get around to fighting, Negan floored Carl with one fell arm-sweep to the chest and almost winded him. 

"God, I _nailed_ you," Negan unabashedly laughed at him, "you alright, kid?"

"Bruised ego and all that..." Carl took Negan's extended hand, brushing the dust from his shirt.

"So anyway, that's the kind of attack I want you to figure out how to block first, just your standard clothes-lining. Any objections? Thoughts, feelings, musings?"

He shook his head and shrugged, "don't think much can go wrong with that."

Negan threw his hands in the air disparagingly, "you've... _cursed_ us. That's what you just did. Goddamn, kid, have movies taught you bupkis? Saying 'nothing can go wrong' is like an open invitation with RSVP for something to go horrendously fuckin' tits up."

The facetious teenager crossed his arms, "technically I said that _not much_ could go wrong, not _nothing_." 

"Oh, a watered-down curse! Much better.” He grumbled, “before someone decides to get all hex-y on us, try tackling me. I want to see your moves. Ankle biting isn’t allowed, by the way." 

With that comment in mind, Carl ducked and ran at him, trying to rugby-tackle the human wall. It was like attempting to caber-toss Bigfoot. Negan extended his knee into the boy's ribs and shoved him to the floor. Carl landed on his front and thought he'd gotten off lightly until he felt his new enemy - Negan's knee - pushing into his shoulder blades and his arm was suddenly pressed against his back. He struggled against the cramped position with a groan, only just registering that he definitely should have stretched beforehand. 

Negan got up, and Carl found himself asking, "again?" The adrenaline had entered his bloodstream by that point and he was almost maniacally determined to get Negan on the floor. 

"Alright, and I won't hold back this time."

"That was you holding back?" Carl asked, mystified and embarrassingly out of breath. He knew Negan would be better, but he didn't realize he'd be _that_ much better. 

So they went again. This time Carl pretended to jab his right arm, making the older man block, and shoved at his left side with all his might. To be fair, Negan was knocked back, but then he regained his balance and grabbed onto the boy's torso. They grappled for a solid eight seconds before Negan swept Carl's leg and yet more precious air was knocked out of him. Negan landed on him swiftly, clearly smug. Without delay, Carl's arms were captured and held in a vise-like grip either side of his head. He struggled but Negan had him totally pinned. Of course, his mind reached towards sinful places, but he was too focused on finding ways to knock the man down to pay much attention.

"You're wiley, kid, I'll give you that. Strong, too..." the victor stood, once again helping his companion up, "you should work on your center of gravity, though, 'cause you went over like a goddamn bowling pin." 

A nod, "I think this is one of those things where practice is really the only thing that can help. It's oddly relaxing, though."

"What, getting your ass handed to you? Your spa days must be freaky as shit..."

Carl, not convinced he even knew what a spa day was, gave him a narrow-eyed look as they returned to their respective starting positions, "let's just get to the part where I break your face."

"Yeah, in light of how this is going, good fucking luck," there was a glint in Negan's eye, like he got the same enjoyment out of brawling, even though they were avoiding seriously hurting each other, "how about I try to take you down, and you concentrate on maintaining your sturdiness. Don't let me be your bowling ball."

Filling his lungs to capacity and back, Carl weighed his defense strategy options. He could block an attack with his arms or legs and try to jump on him, but that spelled back injury-shaped trouble for one or both of them. Staying low and using Negan's own weight against him seemed like the best play as he readied himself, refusing to acknowledge his being intimidated by the more experienced of the two. 

Negan stepped to him faster than lightning and tried to take out his legs. Carl was wise to his tricks by that point and dodged, regaining his stability elsewhere. A muttered affirmation preceded a second attack; a lunge. Carl would never admit that his dodging the attack was a complete accident. He'd actually simply tripped on his own foot and stepped out of the way but Negan overbalanced and he used it to push the man over. He made to get up but Carl was already on him, straddling one leg and managing to pin his right arm to his chest and the other vigorously to the floor. He didn't hold back, pretty sure he'd be leaving big red marks on the man's skin. 

"Got you, motherfucker!" Exertion evident on his face, Carl didn't let up.

"You realize I could easily knee you in the near and dears, right?" Negan pointed out and Carl instinctively moved his hand down to push his thigh to the ground, ensuring his near and dears would remain blissfully un-kneed. There was no way he could keep a straight face at Negan's use of terminology.

"Shut your mouth and let me have this one." He still hadn't moved, unwilling to leave this moment of triumph.

Negan grinned, "you want my lunch money too? Such a little badass..." he said, practically fangirling over Carl and thus, The Blush made its unsolicited appearance. The pride in the older man's eyes was unmissable as he reached up to the back of Carl's neck, sliding his palm across it. His fingers tangled through the teen's hair as he pulled him down into a kiss far too soft and sweet for the context. This had become a thing that happened between them sometimes, it was almost expected at that point. They weren't a couple, and Carl doubted they ever would be, but from the outside it probably looked that way. 

Carl's grip on the man's other hand, still restrained against his chest, loosened. A second too late, he realized his mistake. Like lightning, Negan launched Carl off of him and flipped them over, the teen landing on his back with a grunt. In vain immediacy, he flung his arms up to fend off the inevitable. 

Negan held him to the ground once more, "what shall we call this one? How does 'lippy twink gets shafted by karma' sound?"

"That's cheating!" Carl pointed out indignantly, "such a dick move, even for you." 

"Best not to gloat if you're gonna be fooled that easily..." Negan patted his shoulder and rocked back on his heels, "other than that, well done, kid. You're a fucking lot better than I thought you'd be, I'll give you that." 

After another hour, Carl felt like he'd learned every combat technique (fair or otherwise) under the sun. Negan had also suggested that they make it a regular thing, something to blow off steam while the world waited eagerly to unpause itself. Carl finally spoke the question on his mind as they exited the garage, "how did you learn close combat?" He was half expecting Negan to tap his nose and say something about the first rule. 

"Prison." Negan answered plainly instead, "fifteen years. You either pick shit up or you get it kicked out of you. Simple as that."

Ron never mentioned that. Surely his dad's imprisonment would come up in conversation. What did he do? Carl could picture Negan amidst a prison brawl, bashing someone's head in with a dinner tray and barking orders at the other inmates, "wow..."

"I'm just screwing with you, kid; I was a bouncer in my twenties. We were trained to handle the more, uh, merry folk on Friday nights," he explained, "then I got a feel for it and joined a class, then ended up instructing for a bit. _That_ was interesting. I tell you, once you see a guy's wrist hanging at a jaunty, ninety-degree angle, you lose your zest for teaching professionally." 

All week, Carl had been waiting for this golden opportunity. The Zoom meeting between Negan and his colleagues. These took place once a fortnight, where several people in suit jackets and pajama bottoms answered a video call to talk about finance and tedious industry practices. 

The door to Negan's study barely squeaked when Carl pushed it open. Negan nodded all business-like from his standing desk and it made Carl want to laugh out loud, such as the duality of human nature. The nod meant 'I'm in an online meeting with important people so kindly fuck off', but Carl ignored it entirely, crossing the room with a gleam in his eye. He was nervous, as what he'd planned probably wasn't the smartest idea. Especially as Negan was subtly flipping him off in the hopes that he would leave. 

Of course he didn't, and once Carl dropped to his knees under the desk and started fiddling with his belt, Negan caught on. He swatted at the boy's hands, careful to make sure the movement didn't show up on his webcam, but Carl was determined as ever and soon, Negan's jeans were undone. 

When his boss was distracted by a sip of water, Negan made the mistake of glancing down. Despite his best efforts, he was indeed beginning to get hard simply from the visual of Carl on his knees, an image he'd spent valuable time crafting in his mind. The half-hearted complaints stopped. 

It was interesting how Negan didn't react to Carl rubbing him through his underwear like he'd practiced, or eventually stroking his rapidly hardening cock. He even stayed stony-faced when the boy ran his tongue along the tip, not sparing him a glance as a lady from his laptop spoke confidently about charts and graphs. It was only when Carl took him fully into his mouth that Negan's hand hit the desk softly and he cleared his throat for the benefit of his coworkers. That was when Carl knew he'd won. As if in confirmation, long fingers began to stroke through his hair.

Whenever Negan pitched an insightful remark to the meeting, his voice was a little strained. The knowledge that he was the one to blame sent shivers down Carl's spine as he bobbed his head, trying to keep any noise to a minimum, wishing he could bottle that feeling of pride.

"You're a fucking menace, you little shit," Negan hissed like a ventriloquist, his mic presumably muted. Carl timed a wink with the man sneaking a look at him. The tension written all over his handsome face would be lost on the meeting's participants but to Carl it was as obvious as the existence of gravity, "gonna be the death of me..."

He hoped that the World's Most Unsexy Math Talk wouldn't wilt Negan's erection, though that seemed unlikely given the death grip assaulting Carl's hair. The man's hips pushed forward a little, almost choking the teen. It wasn't an overtly pleasant experience, although in that moment, there was nothing Carl wanted more than to make Negan so flustered that his colleagues would ask why he was panting. 

Attempting to battle the annoying pressure in his jeans, Carl reached down to palm himself and in doing so, made the problem worse. He hadn't expected to get hard with Negan's dick halfway down his throat, given how uncomfortable it looked in porn, but he understood now.

"Don't touch yourself," Negan ordered, his eyes glued to the screen and his unsuspecting colleagues. Reluctantly, Carl obeyed, instead using his hand to stroke Negan up and down, his lips still wrapped around him. Surely the man was close by now. 

"What was that, Negan?" Shit. He'd left his mic on.

Wide eyed, Carl almost stopped in his tracks until Negan went on to say, "don't touch your face, Jordan. Spreads the virus." How clever. By some miracle of self-control and experience, he managed to keep his voice steady and the younger guy commended him on that by _immediately_ trying to ruin it, running his tongue along the underside of Negan's cock like he was made for it before allowing him deeper into his mouth. He tried so hard to make the man lose his cool and voice-break but it didn't happen. He was close, though, because the next time he spoke, he sounded breathy and full of lust.

"Carl, I'm going to come in your goddamn playboy mouth and my boss is droning about _fractions_ ," Negan observed, dragging in a breath. The mic _better_ be off this time because no amount of linguistic trickery could cover that sentence up.

He peered up through his fringe at the man above him, whose lip was caught between his teeth in a way that could and would be mistaken for deep thought. Fingers wrapped tightly in Carl's hair, urging him on and on until Negan, as promised, came into his mouth. A quiet, drawn out, "Carl..." exited the man's lips, his non-existent Ventriloquist Diploma once again coming in handy (or mouthy in this case). 

He made a face at the strange taste, swallowing quickly once, then again just to make sure. The swelling pride in his chest returned - not that he'd ever admit it - when Negan patted his head. Perhaps this was an apology for nearly pulling his hair out. He helpfully redid the man's jeans, hands quivering and clumsy with arousal. 

"My apologies, Simon, but I'm going to have to duck out a little early today. I need to help out a friend in self-isolation." 

Carl's ears perked up at that, and not just because Negan survived not one but _two_ whole sentence without swearing. He'd managed to fasten his belt when the tell-tale jingle of a user exiting a Zoom call sounded from above. Within seconds, Negan had grabbed him by the front of the shirt and hauled him to his feet. Then Carl was shoved backwards into the study wall, Negan pressing him against it and attacking his lips. A solid hand wrapped around his throat, just this side of too tight, like a coil was finally allowed to unwind. Carl forcefully pushed his face up to meet Negan, matching his ferocity. He gripped the man's shirt like he wanted to wear it with him. 

"Can't believe you just did that, you sneaky little bitch," Negan's other hand slipped into Carl's briefs as if he couldn't wait to touch him, "so needy, bet you want me to get you off now too, don't you, sweetheart?" That exasperatingly hot, smug grin was back in full force. He had Carl on strings yet again. 

"God yes," Carl laughed through a shaky breath, deciding that he was fine with being Negan's puppet boy for now. The man obliged, recapturing his lips, and Carl began to wonder how the situation could possibly get less appropriate. He hoped Ron didn't plan on making a surprise return.

Carl was so turned on that he was spilling into Negan's palm within a mere two minutes, realizing some things about himself in regards to the hand around his neck. 

A few days later, Carl convinced Negan to let him renovate the attic. Half the Earth's population seemed to have developed an obsession with home décor and DIY and he'd be damned if he missed out. The next step would be to start hoarding toilet paper and baking banana bread. To be fair, Negan was a good cook, he'd found out, especially when it came to spaghetti. 

It was obvious from how quickly Negan agreed that he'd had a similar idea but never got around to dusting the cobwebs from the room. He had dragged Carl into his study to help order paint and fake potted plants, as close to the picture of domestic bliss as possible. 

They sat at the desk - now adjusted to a regular height - and navigated the turbulent waters of Amazon, dodging ads for things that, for a limited time only, would cost an arm and just half a leg. 

"This is the one," Negan clicked on a bucket of _marmalade sunset_ , or _an affront to the eyes_ , as Carl wanted to rename it, "it'll get here on Sunday, one or both of us can paint. Shouldn't take long 'cause I'm pretty sure the attic was built by Snow White's fellas." 

"Ok, I'm down," Carl nodded at the plan, "but are you... married to that color?" 

"I haven't been married to anything for north of two years, kid. Pick a different one if you want and we'll toss a coin." 

Another nod. In a new tab, Carl searched for _Peach Coral_ , a color he'd had his eye on for a while. It would add a subtle, modern appeal that the attic was sorely lacking. 

"Heads or tails?" 

"Considering what happened last time I was in here, I'll go with heads."

Negan chuckled at that, hopefully the memory was a fond one. The coin almost hit the ceiling before diving back into Negan's palm, George Washington staring up at them, "Fair's fair. _Peach Coral_ it is. Goddamn, paint ain't cheap, do they use gold as pigment or something? Fuckin' tritium resin? You better pay me back for this." He clicked around for a couple of seconds, obviously searching for the checkout, which was counterintuitively buried under a software update reminder. 

"Alt, F4," Carl supplied helpfully in a nonchalant voice, wondering if he'd fall for it. 

Negan just shook his head, elbowing Carl in the upper arm "god, you're adorable. Nice try, kid, but I wasn't born yesterday." 

Carl elbowed him right back, shrugging, "it was worth a shot." 

"God, it's like nutting on an albino's face... just blends right in," Negan motioned to the indistinct wall when they finally got around to painting. The _Peach Coral_ had taken its sweet time to arrive so the dim attic lighting created a ghostly effect on the walls. This made it difficult to distinguish the old paint from the new but it would surely look good in the morning. 

The three plastic plants were placed equidistant at the back of the long attic, bookshelves lining either side for a minimalist approach. Real plants would have surely perished with little to no sunlight - and neither Carl nor Negan would ever water them. 

"Ron is either going to love or hate this, and I honestly don't know which," Carl muttered when the room was finally finished. It did indeed look admirable, even from the feeble glow of the wall bulb. 

"Well, if it's the latter, he better keep his goddamn mouth closed..."

At least once a week, Carl slept next to Negan. It became an unspoken lockdown tradition that he’d crawl into his bed and hog the duvet. Sometimes things would get a little steamy, but half the time, the feeling of simply being near each other was enough, strong arms tangled around a skinny torso. Carl had even sneaked a couple of comics into the nightstand. 

It was only natural, given that the one person either of them saw during an average day in the pandemic was the other. Carl wondered how it would be different after lockdown, because they couldn't exactly parade their not-relationship around – partially for Ron's benefit. 

He couldn't help but think about what would happen to their strange dynamic when Ron did eventually return. After all, Enid only had so much patience. Even during the pandemic, she remained one of Carl's favorite people; she was funny, strong-willed, and fiercely loyal to anyone lucky enough to call her a friend. He just didn't know how long she would be able to stomach undiluted Ron with no one else around. Carl had been video chatting with them frequently and while there were no explicit signs of either party's hurtling voyage into the depths of insanity, it might simply be a matter of time. 

"What would Ron say?" Carl finally blurted one evening. He'd become one with the couch and didn't intend on vacating it until Monday. Negan had joined him for a bit while he sorted some important-looking documents. It had been five days since they last hung out properly, because despite living in the same house, they rarely had time for each other.

"You'll have to be a smidgen more specific, he says a _lot_ of things." 

"Like father like son, as they say. I mean, what would he say if he knew about us? Like, if he happened to walk in when- well, yeah..." 

Negan patted his thigh, "dear Lord, I love that boy five times around the fuckin' moon and back but we would never hear the end of it. He's got a flair for the dramatic so bright he could ground a whole fleet of jets." 

"I've noticed," the teen tittered, making a nuisance of himself by sitting right up close to Negan, practically in his lap, and taking an uninvited gander over the papers. "He still brings up that one time I accidentally whacked him in the head with a tennis racket. That was _three_ years ago! It didn't even leave a bruise..."

The man exhaled through his nose, smirking as if he were exceedingly familiar with that story, batting Carl's hands away from the documents spread out on the coffee table, "Also, no matter who they are in relation to you, someone finds out you're gettin' off with a teenager? You can't really unspill those beans."

"Mmm.... yeah, that's probably a lamp best left unrubbed, he'll be glad to be kept in the dark," Carl agreed, resting against Negan's side, feeling the man absently playing with his hair as he refocussed on the papers, "speaking of getting off..."

Negan side-eyed him, one brow raised. Carl knew Negan couldn't resist him like this; his cheek plastered to the man's shoulder, looking up at him with suggestive eyes. He even let his tongue poke out to lick his lips as his gaze flicked down Negan's face. That was when the documents were abandoned and he was pulled into a heated kiss, hands flinging everywhere.

As Carl scrambled into Negan's lap, he realised how happy he was. Despite the pandemic, despite everything in the world being upside down, he was truly happy. And by the way Negan was holding onto him and chuckling into his mouth whenever he moaned or did something uncoordinated, he felt the same. 

It was their little secret, and they were both more than content with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If, for some reason, you've reached the end and want to continue or add to this AU, feel free. The good, the bad and the dirty feedback is indeed appreciated! Also I'm available for collaborations, hit me up.


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